Princess of India
by Seneti
Summary: We know what happened to the Prince... but he was not the only one involved. Follow Farah on her journey through the madness, the hope and the despair of the prince's tale. Chapter 3 up.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Prince of Persia series. Its story, its characters - all belongs to their respective owners. I do however own this story, so keep your paws off, unless I allow you to do otherwise. I hereby also inform you that this story, though starting innocently enough, will grow more mature, graphic and possibly also violent as it goes on (giving that when talking about Farah's story we are talking about destruction of kingdoms, mass murder, sand zombies, slavery and so on). I will give out warnings at the beginning of each chapter. As for this one: it's a prologue... what do you expect? That I slaughter an army right on the first page?

**Author's Note:** After more than two years in which I hardly wrote anything, Prince of Persia brought back my muse from the dungeon in which she withered. This story will follow Farah, through the Sands of Time, The Two Thrones and the seven years within. Since I couldn't find any reliable data on the age of the character (or their names, in cases like the Prince and the Vizier), I allowed myself tomake up those elements for myself. Feel free to rate and comment. Constructive criticism is wanted.

-x-x-

**Princess of India**

**I – Prologue**

_Most people think time is like a river, that flows swift and sure in one direction. But I have seen the face of time and I tell you: they are wrong._

_You may wonder who I am and why I say this. Sit down and I will tell you a tale like none that you have ever heard._

_Know first that I am Farah, daughter of the mighty Maharajah of India. Our tale, and my story, begins in a night of a full moon, when those led by intuition would wonder, restless from the visions the pale light gave to them. _

_Let me tell you of this night of waking dreams. Let me tell you of the anger and despair, of the foolishness and pride that tore apart my home, my kingdom, my life._

_Let me tell you of the night the skies cried for the fate of the world._


	2. The Night of the Full Moon

**Disclaimer: **The Prince of Persia series and all its characters etc. belong to their respective owners. I do not get money for this. This story however is mine. Ask nicely and wait for response before incluing it anywhere else where I could find it.

**Author's Note:** Here you have the first real chapter. Don't expect me to keep updating that often. I'm a busy girl. Anyway, This is where the fun finally begins. Unless you have a very, very, VERY vivid fantasy when it comes to imagining war wounds as described in a book, this shouldn't offend anybody. I hope... Keep rating and commenting, if you like. Constructive criticism is a gift.

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**Princess of India**

**01 – ****The Night of the Full Moon**

_Among all predators in the world, the most silent one is often the most successful of them all. It is not the lion's roar or the tiger's growl that brings down the antelope. It is its silent approach, its soft and yet focused preparation for the final leap, that will guarantee a successful hunt._

_Humans are not different._

_Do you think it was an army that brought us down? Some massive invasion or a natural disaster of unimaginable extent? You may want to think again. For the soldiers that attacked us were no more than there were guards in our palace and the rain that fell to greet the demise of my fathers empire was nothing more than a usual shower in the rainy season. _

_It was one man, who set in motion the wheels of our doom. One man who, through his cunning and patience, brought sorrow and despair to our world. _

_His name was Yazhar._

-x-x-

"What broods with the princess, to have her wandering the halls at so late an hour?"

I swung around, frightened, my heart racing all of a sudden. I knew I would not have reacted in such a childish manner, had I not been haunted by nightmares. Yet with my rest gone, even the small peep of a mouse could have scared me to death in the dark halls of our palace.

From the pale shadow of the palace walls, our royal vizier descended slowly. I remember my mother once telling me that my father had had the palace built of white marble so it would be a bright and friendly place. I wondered if anybody had ever thought about what it would look like in the moonlight. Pale and blank as the bones of a dead man. It definitely added to the aura of disease that had been surrounding Yazhar for the last weeks.

"I had the most wonderous… most terrible dream." I answered in all honesty. "I was in a place, a palace, but not this one. There was this young man as well, barely more than a boy and – I swear by my soul – he had the Dagger of Time! For some reason there was the hour glass as well and he opened it and… dear gods in the sky…" It was then that I noticed that I was walking up and down the hallway in front of our vizier, waving my arms in wild gestures, my face glistening with soft tears. When I finally spoke again, my voice was coarse. "I tried to stop him. And I failed…"

"The night reveals many depths, princess. Especially when the moon is full in the sky." Yazhar answered me slowly. His voice was crooked as well, but not for the same reason. I thought about the possibility of asking him what had made him so fragile, so sick, over the last weeks, but I decided against it. I had never been overly fond of my father's vizier. And I never would be.

"Go back to sleep, princess." He put a hand on my shoulder, thin and pale as the moonlight. Perhaps, if things had been different, I would have considered it a gesture of caring tenderness. But as things were, I was not ready to rest. "I will." I finally answered, while sliding out of his grasp as politely as I could. "After I made sure that the Dagger of Time and the Hourglass are still where they belong."

-x-x-

_Sometimes, flight is not the better option. Sometimes, facing your fear is the only way to confront an evil. I__ would remain wondering for a long time. Wondering what might have happened, had I just faced my fear, had I just overcome my inherent dislike for that man. If I had just stayed with him instead of running away like a little child. For even a retreat in grace is still a retreat. And in my case, it was an act of foolishness._

_What had happened, had I not gone that night? Would he still have slaughtered the guard and lead the king of Persia into our palace? Would he have killed me first? Or would he have let the opportunity slip? __Would the night have passed as every night before?_

_Time only knows._

-x-x-

I remember watching the sky as I left the tower in which my chambers lay. The moon was descending, giving way to the first rays of morning light. I passed the guards on the wall quickly, greeting them hastily as I went by. I admired them. And had I known that those would be the last minutes they would have in their young lives, I might have spent more time with them. Who where they? What where their names? Did they have wives or children? What made them so proud to work in my father's service? It is amazing how little the high-born know about their servants. But one thing I know: I owe my life to one of them.

It happened much too fast for me to fully comprehend what was happening. I remember his voice, calling out to me. I remember the feeling of his hands on my shoulders, as he quickly pushed me forward. I remember the heat against my back, as the arrow missed me with nothing more than a finger's width to spare.

"Are you alright, princess?" I turned around quickly and glared it him in utter shock. Had I really almost been struck by a burning arrow? Who was attacking us? Why? How? There were guards stationed all around the palace. "Princess!"

"I'm fine." I noticed then that my breath was hitching. The guards had drawn their weapons, ready to fight off the enemy, and except for the one who had saved my life all focused on the palace's gates. "I'm fine."

"Go inside and seek your father, Princess! We will fight them off." I nodded quickly and half ran, half jumped down the stairs of the tower. The dreadful feeling in my stomach that had been my constant companion for the whole night was now turning into the realisation of suppressed fears. Was this what my dream had been telling me? I had to find my father.

As I hurried down the twisted halls and passages of our palace, the change that had been brought to my world finally dawned on me. The moon was gone, replaced by burning clouds, the silence of the night turned into the clamour of battle and fear. We were losing the fight. I could already feel my world crumble right to my feet, yet I did not want to believe it. Not yet. Foolish as it may seem, I clung to hope. Until I reached the throne room.

The great hall in which I had often played hide and seek lay reduced to rubble. Banners once bright in colour now hung like bloody shreds of a giant. Dust made my eyes tear and I coughed hard as I carefully made my way across the debris. As trivial as it may sound, I was glad I had changed my robe after waking from my nightmare, soaked in sweat. I feared I would have tripped over my own two feet in my long night gown.

"Father?" I had almost reached the centre of the hall when the dust finally lifted. What I saw then made my blood freeze.

Apparently, the Persians had quickly found their way into the throne room and with them the battle. Our warriors had not had any time to prepare themselves properly. Not a single one of them wore any sufficient armour and for every fallen Persian, there were at least five fallen Indians. The sights of their maimed bodies made me wretch. Though a good archer myself, I had never taken part in a real battle. I had never seen true war wounds up so close… splintered bones and flesh cut in half were not exactly part of a princess's daily agenda. Yet here I was.

"Farah…" I nearly jumped at the faint sound of my father's voice. The moment I had entered these halls, I had wished desperately that he had not been here, but in his chambers or any other place in the palace. Anywhere but here. "Farah…" And then, I saw him.

I remember shaking my head and stuttering denials, my mind refusing to accept the truth. This wasn't my father. It was somebody else. It had to be. "Father…" I could not believe I actually uttered the word. I could not believe I actually sat down next to the blood-soaked figure that bore the face of my beloved father. I could not believe that this dying man, who was missing one arm, was indeed the man who would give me a kiss on my forehead every morning and spare me the typical confines that were placed on young princesses. And yet, I knelt down and reached for his remaining hand, guiding it to my cheek where it would wipe away that tears that now ran down my face.

"Farah..." His voice was even fainter then, though I hardly considered it possible. His face was wrinkled with pain and fear. He knew he was dying. "My daughter... the Dagger of Time… they must not…" His back arched up ever so slightly, coughs sending tremors through his wrecked body. I sat frozen, like a statue of glass, ready to shatter the moment his breath stopped. "You must take the Dagger! Take it, Farah, and flee from this place. Run, my angel… run."

His hand slid out of mine slowly, his eyes still focused on my tear-streaked face. The tremors that had shocked his body had passed. He was dead. My father, the king of India, was dead. Realisation seeped into my body like a serpents poison, slowly freezing me. Dead. Lost. Gone forever. I was alone. A L O N E, the soft voice inside of me that always used to show up when I needed it most - or least - spelled it out for me. This was the day my world ended.

It was the sound of nearing footsteps that brought me back to reality. The uncomfortable feeling of falling from the ceiling that sometimes haunted me shortly before my sleep returned, knocking me down onto the floor on all fours immediately. What I heard were the not only footsteps. Soldiers. Many of them. And armoured. I had to get out of here and leave that nightmare behind me.

-x-x-

_Sometimes flight is not the better option. But when it is, it should be prompt and swift. That was yet another lesson I learned the hard way. For when I arrived at the treasure vaults of my father, when I had finally left all the winding paths and secret passages behind me, it was already too late. This is how it happened. The end of my world._

-x-x-

"Father! I have brought us honour and glory."

There were so many people in the treasure vaults. So many Persians. How had they known how to get there? The design of our palace was too complicated for outsiders. My gaze first fell upon the dozen or so men that tried to drag the hourglass away, its sands glistening in terrible anticipation of what was to come, as if they begged the weak humans to open it. From the balconies I had a good few of the scenery. The dagger was gone.

And then I saw him, the boy who had spoken those words. The prince from my dream. He truly was nothing more than a boy – maybe a meagre 16, like I – clad in the finest robe a Persian warrior could possibly possess. He did not seem to strong and had he been alone, anger over my father's death and desperation in fear of what might happen if he opened the sands might have driven me to descend, trying to snatch the dagger from him.

But he was not alone. In front of him towered a man, grey of age and yet a proud warrior, in blue garments, smiling down at his son. The king of Persia. The man who had attacked my kingdom, killed my father and ruined my peaceful life. I admit that I instantly hated him. And yet, if I had had the choice to kill one person in the vaults with a single word from my lips, it would neither have been the Persian king, nor his prince.

"Your majesty… you promised me my choice of the Maharajahs treasures: that dagger!"

"That traitor!" The words rolled over my lips silently, tears coming back to my eyes, tears of grief, but of fury as well. So many years my father had trusted him, had he made him the most powerful man in India, had he given him all he ever asked for and now he betrayed us for a shiny piece of unknown metal that might bring the end of the world… I could not believe my ears. I would no believe my eyes. And yet my heart knew that it was the truth. Yazhar had betrayed us. It was all his fault. The king of Persia could hardly be blamed. Kings conquer. He conquered. The prince could not be blamed. Princes fight battles and try to live up to their father's expectation. He did. I could see it in the way his father smiled. But Yazhar… Yazhar had no excuse.

"Surely you won't deny the lad a souvenir from his first battle." The king's soft voice rumbled. "You may have your choice of all the maharajahs other treasures." My eyes widened in horror. No he may not! If the hourglass, which he was eyeing so greedily, fell into his hands, we would all be in even greater trouble. For a second I felt my breath stop inside my throat. Why was all this happening? Why did things have to go from bad to worse with every second?

"Except for that hourglass." Thank you, gods! I almost smiled with relief. After all the terror and devastation this morning had brought, there finally was a light of hope. Neither the hourglass nor the dagger would fall into Yazhar's hand. I watched him ram his staff into the ground in anger, coughing as the effort wore him out. He held a cloth in front of his mouth, his body shaking violently. And now it dawned on me. Consumption. He did not have much longer to live and he knew it. He needed the sands to rewind time. Or worse.

"That will make a fine gift for the sultan of Azad, when we pass through the city. And some exotic animals for his menagerie. And half a dozen slave girls. Yes, that should be enough."

S L A V E G I R L S. I remember vividly how my inner voice spelled the words out in front of me. A destiny worse than death. I had to get out of the palace. But then, realisation hit me. Where would I possibly go? How far could I possibly get? And what should become of the dagger and the hourglass, if I were to leave them in the hands of a king, a prince and a sultan who did not even have the slightest idea of its power? And how could I ever leave without making Yazhar pay for what he did to my father, my kingdom, my people?

"I want no animals nor maidens harmed until I have chosen. Let it be known: King Sharaman is merciful in victory." Merciful… I turned back around the pillar slowly, my amulet firmly in fist. I remember being close to tears. I remember feeling hope seep out of me like blood of a wounded animal. Why did this have to happen to me?

-x-x-

_Of all the feelings that can break a soul, there is one to strike with such force that one will want to die, not from one moment to the other, but slowly, one by one. Like a serpent's venom it poisons us, leaves us cold as stone and yet alive. It is not grief or anger or despair. _

_It is loneliness. For it is the only fear that certainly remains with us until our death. It clings to us… it calls for us… it longs for us. It begs us to look beyond what we see. Beyond what we wish to see. Into the abyss of our own souls. _

_My journey had just begun._


	3. To Azad

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Persia and all its characters, places, items, etc. belong to their respecitive owners. I merely own the three shiny DVDs and my imagination. I do not get money for this. No copyright infringement intended.

**A.N.: **I am sorry it took me so long to upload the next chapter. I am currently preparing for my return from my semster abroad, so things are pretty much going upside down in my life, at the moment. I'll do my best to upload more often. To all of you who reviewed (or mean to review): thank you very much. Please feel free to tell me if anything bothers you (rating, grammar, character development, style, whatever). To e1wasf: thank you for your wonderful review. However, I must emphasise that this story IS called Princess of India, so it will probably NOT be Prince-centric. However, I will not bother my readers with too lengthy accounts of what Farah did during the seven years between SoT and WW, for example. I am trying not to have more than a handful of Prince-less chapters in this story.

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**III – To Azad**

_We all need to be taught our lessons._

_Lessons are an indispensa__ble part of life. They hurt us. They help us. They shape us. Sometimes our lessons are short, sometimes they are long. Some teach us nothing. Some teach us the world. But of all the possibilities life lays out for us, fate tends to choose the worst. Of all the lessons we might learn, fate chooses the hardest._

_My world had crumbled, my life skipped its track. I had been given a clean slate._

_And fate started its lesson._

-x-x-

"Let go of me right now or I swear you are going to regret this!" I remember kicking and fighting like a wild cat that was about to take a bath. The soldier's hands had left my throat quickly and now had a firm grip on my arms. He was half shoving, half dragging me off the balcony into the maze of halls of our palace, the cold metal of his armour leaving me with goose bumps and a number of scratches on my shoulder. However, I barely noticed them. I hardly ever noticed anything when I was in a rage. And I definitely was now. "Get your hands off me, you bastard!"

"What a minx!" A deep giggle rumbled of his throat as he pushed me against the nearest wall and pressed the stubbles of his beard against my neck. He reeked of blood, sweat and alcohol – a demonic brew that sent my senses back into place and my stomach into preparation to bring last night's dinner back out. "This got to be my lucky day." Within a second, he twisted my arms up my back and a startled cry slid off my tongue. The pain in my shoulder was hot, like a burning spear being shoved right in between my bones and turned around for good measure.

If I had been in any mood to use my arms before, I definitely was not now. The short laughter from behind my ear made fresh tremors roll through my body. "Be a good girl and this won't hurt as much." The pressure on my back intensified, sending my right cheek and my chest into the cold walls. I was mildly aware of a cold hand travelling down my backside to the rim of my skirt. Immediately, my spirits were up again. I was the princess of India, the best archer of my nation, and not some dim-witted damsel in distress. I could not let this happen. Writhing against the pain, I tried to kick out again, only to be met by amused giggling. The hand reached under the lower rim of my skirt, causing me to elicit a short yelp. This could not be happening. I prayed to the gods that it wasn't.

"You! Soldier! Stand back!" I froze immediately, as did the man groping me, his hand still conveniently placed just on the upper end of my left thigh. I wanted to turn to get a look at my saviour, but had my faced pressed against the wall in the wrong direction. Then again, my father's soldiers were dead, so with any luck at all this was one of the Persians' higher ranking officers. And what good could that possibly do me?

"That girl – is that a virgin you have caught yourself there?"

"I was just going to check."

"Yes, with your belt loosened and your best friend ready…" The other man retorted. "Just in case, I suppose." Within a second, the restraining hands were off my back and thigh. I sighed with relief. There were gods, after all. From behind me, heavy foot steps were drawing nearer. I turned around slowly, now weary of what had just happened. The pain in my shoulder still lingered and I remember the way my knees shook as I made my half circle to face the two Persians.

The one standing to my right was definitely the one who had attacked me, a usual soldier in his late twenties, unshaved, dirty, bloody and driven by madness, like the lot of them. His face held a look of disappointment that I could only smile at. It was the one who now approached me that made my blood run cold. I had seen one or two of them already, tall and with all the amount of armour that a man could possibly carry on his shoulders. The large, curved blade that swung softly back and fourth on the right side of his massive body was red from blood. I pitied the soldiers that had faced him. And I pitied me.

"His highness ordered to spare all virgins until he has chosen." It was then that the little voice inside my head reminded me that it was about time to run, but I did not get far. Swift as a shadow, his hand reached for my throat, pinning me back against the wall. Something in my head began ringing, as I gasped for air. His face was now right in front of mine and I suppose I looked much like an animal scared to death, as I writhed slightly in his grasp, my feet dangling helplessly a good deal above the ground. Before I could do as much as cry out, his right knee was between my legs and his hand beneath my skirt.

"Please… don't…" My voice broke as his hand travelled upwards and I remember I wanted to die. I prayed to the gods to kill me, to release me from this nightmare. His eyes mustered me once from head to toe, then focused on mine again. And some part inside me began to calm down. His eyes looked old, like they had seen hundreds of battles. Hundreds of girls like me, pushed against a wall. As frighteningly intimate and unpleasant as this situation was for me – to him it was nothing out of the ordinary. There was no lust in those eyes. Just the fatigue that was so typical of soldiers who had seen too much devastation. Sobbing faintly, I closed my eyes in defeat.

He moved quickly, with a skill that made me wonder just how many girls had been in my situation before. His movements were quick and carefully measured and made me wince and shiver. I felt tears rolling from my eyes even as he straightened my skirt again, removing his knee from between my legs and setting me down almost gently. I tried hugging my dislocated arms around my body, clutching what little fabric I wore, while my knees tried to remember what it meant to actually hold still. I glanced up at the Persian as he gave the other one a short nod. "We'll take her to the king."

I wanted to object, but was cut short as the colossus grabbed my arm, quickly fixed my dislocated shoulder and started dragging me along the hallways. Would it have been that much trouble to cut me down right where I was and just end my suffering? Anger swelled inside me. Anger and hatred of the Persian soldiers, of Persian men… of men in general. What were they all, but self-centred, traitorous bastards? I tried to pry myself free off the giant's grasp, but his grip on my arm was firm, his stride fast and my shoulder still too much of a melting pot of pain and tremors to give me any chance. And so I stumbled along helplessly, my mind finally finding time to return to the greater picture. This was not only about me. It was about the Dagger, the Sands and possibly the end of the world. My father was dead, as were most of our soldiers. Now it was my responsibility to set things right. To take the Dagger to a safe place. And to punish the vizier for what he had done to us. The vizier. Yazhar, the dirty traitor. Fuelled by fresh anger, I straightened up again. A princess does not walk with her head low in defeat.

We eventually arrived at the throne room, the now familiar sight in front of me merely drawing a sigh from my dry throat. The blood-spattered room stood in stark contrast to the assembly in front of my father's throne. The King of Persia had not taken my father's place. This was no conquest. It was merely a raid. The thought made me both happy and angry at the same time. There was a chance that our kingdom would be rebuilt, should I ever manage to escape and return. But what had all our soldiers died for? Not to defend their country, but my father's treasure vaults. We had paid with blood for gold and jewels. Had it not been for the Sands, I would have called it a scandal.

Next to the king, Yazhar had taken his place, just as he had always done with my father. The sight infuriated me even more. To him, it seemed, the situation had not changed at all. There was no loyalty in his heart. What had occurred here was merely a change of masters and not a disaster. I contemplated reaching for one of the swords of our fallen soldiers taking my chances at killing him, but the captain's grip on my arm was still of iron. And so I merely scowled at the vizier's smiling face as I took my place in the line of young maidens lined up in front of the king. Most of them were servants whose names I could not recall for the love of the gods. Counting me in, there were but four girls of noble blood in this palace, daughters of my father's ministers.

I could see brave Kiran, who had always been like a big sister to me, standing in the middle of the line, her head held high, eyes full of hatred for the two men in front of her. She gave me a quick nod, assuring me that she was alright. I searched the line for Vidya's familiar face and was shocked not to find her. Where was she? I feared the worst. From the left end of the line, Anjali, who was my age and a dreamer at heart, smiled at me with tear-filled eyes. In contrast to Kiran, Anjali was a tender soul and even imagining what sadness and sorrow all this carnage must have caused her made me want to comfort her. I took my place next to her, taking her hand into mine and squeezing it lightly. I tried to smile, but my lips would not move. We were twelve girls. He had talked about half a dozen.

"Those are all the maidens in the palace." The captain who had captured me finally spoke out. I watched in silence as the King stepped forth. It was the first and last time that I would get a good look at his face. There was pride in his features. Pride, strength and kindness. Honour. Though it was little consolation, I had to admit to myself that things could have been a LOT worse. He started at the right end of the line, pacing carefully along the row of frightened girls, most of which were still in their night gowns. He moved without haste, obviously taking his time for consideration. I knew immediately that he would not pace back and fourth as most kings would. He would look at each of us, contemplating, judging, but only giving each of us one single chance to make a good impression. Whatever that would be.

"You…" I looked up at him in with what I hoped was a confident, yet not insulting expression on my face. Given that anger was a rumbling volcano inside my body, I dug the nails of my left hand into my palm to keep my emotions carefully bottled up. "I have been told that you are the Maharajah's daughter. Is that correct?"

"If my father's vizier told you so, then I suppose it must be the truth." A wonderful slip of tongue. I immediately cursed myself for allowing my hatred to turn a perfectly simple answer into a verbal spear.

"Indeed." I had expected him to feel offended, to react shocked or angered. Instead, the king of Persia smiled at the obvious fury in my eyes. "You certainly have the spirits of one." He turned around again, raising his right hand so it was right in front of my face. "This one…" He winked his hand at me shortly, indicating that I had been chosen, before quickly going back the way he had come. He winked at five other girls, causing a sequence of relieved sighs and desperate sobs as he guaranteed in turn captivity in safety and freedom in peril. Virgin or not – those who were not chosen were now fair game to every single Persian soldier in this palace. Anjali turned around to me, clinging to my right arm as relieved sobs shook her fragile body. She had been chosen. She had gotten lucky. I bent forward slightly searching for Kiran's nod of approval. What she gave me was a fleeting glance, before she straightened up again. I would remember her like that – her head held high in pride, her posture not hiding her noble blood and a silent tear streaming down her face. It would be the last time I should see her.

-x-x-

_People say there is no such thing as love at first sight. But what is love? Is it not one side of a mysterious coin, a universal means of payment in our vast world of human souls? And is its other side not hatred, the blood-money with which we try to quench our thirst for vengeance?_

_I have never known love at first sight. That strange feeling which people would describe with such words had no place in the world of India's princess and while my father had spared me the traditional and equally awful madness of marriage before my 15__th__ birthday, he had not failed to plant in my mind the seed of noble understanding that, as a princess, I had a certain place in the world that entitled me to both privileges and responsibilities. I had learned at an early age to trust my instincts, but not to follow them blindly. In my world, there was no place for love at first sight._

_But hatred…_

-x-x-

We left for Azad at the breaking of the next morning. The first birds had barely begun to sing when the Persian soldiers came to wake us. There had been but one room for the six of us, leaving us to comfort each other through the tedious hours of blood-red evening and pitch black night. I had tried to keep my position as a princess, as an idol to look up to, and I had spent most of the night amidst the other girls, each of them in turn resting their heads in my lap, sobbing, crying, weeping. Many prayers had been spoken. For our lost fathers and brothers, our unfortunate mothers and sisters. Pain, grief and undying uncertainty about our own fate had dominated the long and dark hours of the night.

When the guards finally entered our room and forced us to form a line in front of what had once been a bed for honoured guests, I could not hold back a sigh of relief. Being chosen to descend into slavery was bad enough, but waiting for the pain to come to me felt even worse. I wanted to move. I wanted to see progress, even if fortune was not on my side.

As we lined up carefully, five heads hung in shame and fear, one of the soldiers examined the windows closely. He laughed with amusement at the scratches on the carefully locked silver shutters. "How cute! Did the little jungle kittens try to escape their cage?" He joined his companions in front of us, smirking at the trembling girls next to me, before grabbing my chin in between his fingers. "Admit it: you just couldn't wait to get action, could you."

"Soldier!" I grasped my opportunity as the grip of his fingers loosened slightly and spit directly into his face. He turned away, wiping his eyes and cursing me in what I supposed to be a dialect from Babylon. I could only make out half the words. As he turned, I managed to catch a glimpse of the man whose voice had saved me from this simple-minded, desperate, stinking soldier. What I saw made me smile slightly, despite all horrible conditions around me.

"One would think your army only had one high-ranking officer."

"And one would think a Maharajah's daughter would have better manners. I am impressed by your fierce attitude." The colossus approached us, quickly studying each of the girls to make sure that we were all accounted for and untouched. I remembered him all too well. The scars on his face, the heavy armour, the blood-soaked sword. He gave his soldiers a short wink, which was quickly followed by sound of heavy iron chains falling around tender wrists. Next to me, Anjali wept quietly. At another wink of his hand, the now completed line began to move, framed by Persian soldiers. The captain led the way, turning his head slightly, so I could see his right eye over the rim of his collar. "Do not worry, Princess. Nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I am in charge of this convoy."

I raised an eyebrow in disbelieve. "And that would be until _when_?"

"Until we arrive in Azad. It is a four-days-march."

-x-x-

The captain held true to his word, watching over us carefully while we were being bound to the "cart" that would carry us through the desert between my father's land and Azad, were not "cart" a very inadequate term. A round, wooded platform fitted with a single pole to attach our chains to was more of an apt description. They left our hands and feet unbound, assuring that we would be able to move, but not to escape. For the first time since we had been chosen, Anjali was taken from my side and protest was clearly visible in her auburn eyes.

As we travelled through the desert, the gravity of our situation once again hit me. The hours were long and tedious and the sun kept burning us. We took breaks twice the day, once in the middle of the night and once in the middle of the day when it was to hot to move. For the first time since the attack on my palace, I pitied some of the soldiers. The long journey through endless dunes made them weary, replacing the excitement and bloodlust of battle with the dreadful realisation of what this attack had cost them. I heard soldiers mourn their fallen friends, heard men sigh in longing for the families they had left behind, heard warriors beg for divine forgiveness for the terrible deeds they had done in line of their conquest. Where there had once been lust in their eyes when they had watched us, they now stared at us in contempt, glares that shot daggers. And so, four days became an eternity.

It was shortly after the dawning of the fourth day when my eyes met his for the first time. He was riding next to his father and the vizier and was obviously little concerned with just how much his troops suffered. As he turned to look at me, I felt the little hairs on the back of neck bristle. _Go to hell_. What kind of a prince was that, who would ride so ignorant of his people's suffering? What kind of a man, no, boy, was that, who would look upon the suffering he had brought as if nothing had happened?

The convoy travelled around another dune and I heard sounds of surprise from the other girls. I tried to turn my head, wincing as the burning metal around my neck confined my movements. From the corner of my left eye, I caught the glimpse of a palace and my limbs froze in shock. The joyful cries from the soldiers around us told me where we were. I had never been to Azad and yet I remembered this palace. Haunting images crept back into my mind. I looked at the young prince again, at the Dagger dangling by his side, at his clueless, young face. I had no doubt my nightmare would come true. He would never see the danger he held in his own hands. I would have to think of how to stop him. I quickly discarded the option of physical force. I might have been strong, for a woman, but no match for him. My gaze fell upon his father, riding ever-gracefully next to him. The King of Persia was said to be a wise man. Perhaps I could make him listen, make him understand, if only I got the chance to talk to him. The more I thought about this possibility, the more I felt reassured that this was my only chance. My decision had been made. A smile curved my lips shortly, but vanished as the king's form got blocked by a pitch-black darkness.

From the back of his mule, Yazhar grinned down at me.


End file.
